The Year Peeves Spiked the Christmas Punch
by PrincessEilonwy
Summary: Much to his dismay, Harry finds that even teachers have secrets, and they're not pretty. NOT SLASH!
1. A Horrifying Discovery

Disclaimer: Now you know I'm not J.K.Rowling and I know I'm not J.K.Rowling, so we'll say no more about it.  
  
A/N: Actually, the Christmas punch probably won't come into this for a few chapters, but the idea for the title hit me in the middle of the night and it was too perfect to pass up.  
  
"Only two more weeks until the holidays!" Ron exulted as he, Harry, and Hermione hurried toward their Transfiguration class.  
  
"Yeah," said Hermione gloomily, fingering the strap of her book bag. "And I've been having so much fun in my classes I don't want to stop." Ron began to back away from her, holding his fingers up in a cross, and she hastily added, "Kidding, Ron. Just kidding. I mean, I'm not *that* geeky, am I?"  
  
Ron nudged Harry and muttered, "Don't answer that." Harry stifled a snort and Hermione pretended not to notice as they swung around the corner. Suddenly, the bell rang.  
  
Hermione moaned. "Oh, no, we can't be late to Transfiguration *again.*" She opened the door resignedly and slipped into the classroom with Ron and Harry trailing behind her.  
  
McGonagall had already started the lesson and looked up quickly as they entered guiltily, skulking to their seats and hoping they hadn't been noticed. Apparently, it was too much to hope for.  
  
"How many tardies does that make this week, Miss Granger?" she asked sharply, looking over her glasses at the three of them.  
  
"Three, Professor," said Hermione in a small voice, hastily pulling out her book and trying to look busy. She looked so miserable that Harry felt compelled to come to her defense.  
  
"It was really my fault, Professor," he put in quickly. "I stayed after class to talk with Professor Sprout and Hermione and Ron were waiting for me." Hermione shot him a grateful look as McGonagall turned her beady gaze on him.  
  
She looked piercingly at him for a few seconds, then finally said, "Very well, Potter. See that it doesn't happen again." Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief as McGonagall turned away and continued the day's lesson.  
  
Harry paid close attention during class, hoping to make up for his irresponsibility. If he'd hoped to avoid a talk with McGonagall, though, he was disappointed. At the end of class, she told him to stay behind for a moment.  
  
"We'll wait outside," Ron called over his shoulder as he and Hermione left the room. Harry suddenly felt alone and unprotected. He stood before McGonagall's desk, waiting for the blow to fall. But it never came.  
  
Instead, McGonagall looked embarrassed. She reddened faintly and shuffled items on her desk for a few minutes before speaking. Harry waited politely, wondering how long this was going to take. Finally, McGonagall spoke.  
  
"I'd like you to do me a favor, Potter," she said, looking embarrassed. "You're going to Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"  
  
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, wondering where this was leading.  
  
"Well, you see, the situation is this. I'd like to get a special present anonymously for...er...another teacher, but I'll never be able to get away from him long enough to buy it. And of course I couldn't give it to him in person. So I was wondering if you could possibly...um..."  
  
"Get it for you and deliver it to him?" Harry finished. McGonagall nodded, relieved.  
  
"Exactly, Potter. Now listen carefully. At Honeyduke's there are enormous boxes of Chocolate Frogs selling for one Galleon apiece. Do you know the ones I'm talking about?"  
  
Harry nodded quickly. He and Ron had drooled over those very boxes every Hogsmeade visit for the last three months.  
  
"Good. If you could also go to the bookstore next door and..." McGonagall was going into default teacher mode and Harry felt it was best not to interrupt her. Quietly, he pulled a piece of parchment out of his bag and began taking notes as McGonagall continued with her lengthy list of presents for her secret love.  
  
"...I know he's wanted one of those forever, so make sure you get one to go with the gloves," McGonagall wound up several minutes later. Harry was scribbling frantically, still trying to remember whether to get cream or beige earmuffs. McGonagall looked rather concerned. "I wasn't going too fast for you to get all that down, was I, Potter?"  
  
"Oh, no, not at all," Harry lied quickly. He was beginning to feel sorry for whoever McGonagall's crush was and hoped his office was big enough to store all the things he'd be getting this Christmas. Who could it be? Harry started running through all the likely male teachers in his head: Flitwick? Probably too short. Binns? Too transparent. Dumbledore? Too old. Surely not-  
  
"Professor?" he asked timidly.  
  
McGonagall jumped. "What is it, Potter?"  
  
"You know, if I'm going to deliver all this stuff, I'll have to know who to give it to. So, um, who, uh, exactly is it?" Harry waited with bated breath while McGonagall turned beet red and rearranged her desk again.  
  
At last she replied in a whisper so low he could barely hear it. "Professor Snape."  
  
Harry froze. He had been half expecting this, but finding out for sure left him in a state of shock. In a daze, he heard himself say, "Thank you, Professor. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything," as he got up to leave.  
  
Once outside the room, he leaned against the door, still weak with surprise at this betrayal from the head of his own house. Ron and Hermione asked him what was wrong, but he could only shake his head in reply. As they headed down the corridor toward the Great Hall for lunch, there was only one thought in Harry's mind: How hard can it be to buy Christmas presents for your mortal enemy?  
  
A/N: We'll find out, won't we? I'm sorry, but I've always wanted to pair Snape and McGonagall to see how it would work out. By the way, if anyone knows how to get italic and bold lettering to show up, PLEASE TELL ME!!!!! The asterisks get annoying after a while. Coming As Soon As I Can Write It: Chapter Two. 


	2. Get Out of My Way, I'm Going Christmas S...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, okay?  Just leave me alone and let me write fanfics in peace.

A/N: Well, here it is...the next installment in your favorite story.  Except for all my other stories, which I know are all your favorites as well.  Ha ha.  The chapter title is on a tote bag my mom owns and I just love that bag, so I figured why not?  I've been really bad at acknowledging reviewers in the past, so here goes:

Ivory Tower: Sorry, all I can do for you is quote the immortal words of Rodgers and Hammerstein (I think): "Who can explain it,/ Who can tell you why?/ Fools give you reasons,/ Wise men never try..."  I don't entirely understand it either, but there's just no accounting for tastes.

kippinator: I couldn't agree more with you.  It is sick, but I suppose once Remus left after third year she had to find another object for her affections (j/k—I hope).

More notes will follow in later chapters, but for now thanks to everyone else who wrote nice reviews and on with the story!

Get Out of My Way, I'm Going Christmas Shopping!

Normally Harry would be happy to go to Hogsmeade, but on this particular trip his heart was heavy.  All the fun he would have had usually was ruined by the prospect of buying approximately two dozen Christmas presents for Severus Snape.  He had told Ron and Hermione only that McGonagall had asked him to get something for her—he didn't think he could endure Ron's teasing all day long.

Hermione was, of course, ecstatic that he had to drop by Half Price Spellbooks.  "Oh, I know all the employees!" she gushed enthusiastically, taking Ron's arm and dragging him with them against his futile protests.  "This is going to be so much fun!"

If Hermione defined "fun" as "painful torture," Harry could see what she meant.  But somehow, he didn't think she meant it that way.  Ron seemed about as excited as Harry was.

"Why do you have to go to a _bookstore?"_ he groused as Hermione half led, half pulled them up the street toward a small shop with a faded sign.  "I mean, you could at least go to Ornithio's Owl Shop or someplace remotely interesting like that.  But Half Price Spellbooks!  I'm never going to live this down.  I can already just see it.  'What do you have against reading, Ron?  Even Harry likes to visit bookstores sometimes, don't you Harry?'  Okay, okay, I'll be polite while we're there, I promise I'll shut up," he told Hermione, who was giving him the Hermione Granger Glare of Death.

They entered through the creaking doors, which swung closed slowly behind them.  Harry wasn't sure what he had expected, but he was sure it hadn't been this.  There didn't seem to be any shelves like there were in normal bookstores.  Instead, there was a motley assortment of tables with books piled high on and under them.  A sign on the far wall proclaimed that all transfiguration books were 40% off until Wednesday, with an additional 10% savings if you could find them without tearing the store apart. 

"No wonder McGonagall loves this place," Harry murmured to Ron, noting a stack of books bearing titles like _The Man Who Turned His Wife Into a Hat: The Strange Adventures of Dr. Oberon Smacks_ and dozens of back issues of _Transfiguration Today. _ He didn't have much time to look around before Hermione came bouncing over accompanied by the proprietor of the store, a tiny, wizened witch with enormous spectacles.

"Harry," Hermione beamed, "this is Lady Libra, the founder, manager, and sole employee of Half Price Spellbooks.  Lady Libra, this is my friend Harry and my acquaintance Ron."  Ron tried unsuccessfully to hide his hurt look.  Hoping his very-pleased-to-meet-you-even-though-I-wouldn't-ordinarily-be-caught-dead-in-your-store look was fixed firmly in place, Harry stepped forward to shake hands with Lady Libra.

"So you have come to my little shop," Lady Libra croaked, adjusting her spectacles to see Harry better.  

[No, I'm down the street at Zonko's,] Harry thought irritably, trying to ignore the fact that her hand reminded him unpleasantly of some eels he had used the other day in Potions.  [I've got to get out of here before I go nuts,] he realized as he noted that the atmosphere of dusty intellectualism was starting to grate on his nerves.  He didn't even have to look at Ron to know he was probably already getting hives from being near so many books.

He took a deep breath before plunging bravely into the fray.  "Okay," he told Lady Libra resignedly, reading off the neverending list of stuff McGonagall had thoughtfully come up with for her beloved.  "I need to find a first-edition hardcover illustrated copy of _101 Things to do With a Bucket of Troll Eyes on a Rainy Day_, _Curiosity Killed the Cat: Veritaserum Through the Ages_ volumes 1-5 signed by all 20 authors, _A Modern Wizard's Guide to Cooking With Potions_, _Home Brewing Made Easy_, _Asphodel to Zebra Hoof: A Comprehensive Dictionary of Potion Ingredients_, _Double, Double, Toil and Trouble: Potions in the Muggle World_, and...that's it.  Oh, thank goodness," he finished, panting for breath.

Amazingly, Lady Libra didn't look in the least discouraged or frightened by the formidable task set before her.  Instead, she gave Harry a curt nod of thanks and began weaving her way among the tables, rifling through the stacks of books and selecting volumes apparently without difficulty.  Within two minutes she had deposited a tottering pile of books into Harry's reluctant arms and wasn't even breathing hard.

"Unbelievable," Ron breathed in awe, staring reverently at Lady Libra.  She gave the three a mysterious smile.

"I remember every book I've ever had in my store," she explained matter-of-factly in answer to their disbelieving looks.  Hermione looked suitably impressed, Harry and Ron suitably scared.

[Just what I need,] Harry groaned inwardly.  [Mr. Ollivander all over again.  At least she stares at the books, not me...]  "How much will this be?" he asked, eyeing the thick books he carried and feeling very, very thankful that the sack of Galleons in his pocket was McGonagall's and not his.

Lady Libra peered over her spectacles at his selections.  Apparently it didn't work, because she then gave a small sigh and peered through them.  After surveying the pile for a few seconds, she pronounced that the cost would be 15 Galleons.  Ron blinked in shock that anyone would spend that much on books.

Harry handed over the money, unable to resist a small stab of satisfaction at the enormous amount of money this was going to take out of McGonagall's kitty.  It served her right for being smitten with Snape.  Besides, did he—or anybody else, for that matter—really need ten books, a full set of knit winter clothing, a set of diamond potion bottles, an official set of Jersey Jinxes Quidditch robes signed by every player, a gigantic box of Chocolate Frogs that would feed Crabbe and Goyle for a month, an economy-size bottle of Magical Essences Hair Potion for Super Extra Oily Hair, and a Teacher's Deluxe Sneakoscope that would tell the owner who was talking in class?

Gathering up the despised books, Harry and Ron made a very, very, very quick exit from Half Price Spellbooks, a reluctant Hermione dragging behind.  Once outside, Ron collapsed against the store wall, panting with relief that the terrible ordeal was over at last.  Harry was about to do the same when he suddenly remembered with dread the enormous amount of stuff he still had to get.  Having to go shopping was bad enough; doing it for _Snape_ was rubbing salt into the wound.  Why couldn't McGonagall have picked someone like Hermione, who would be only too happy to do anything for a teacher?

Deciding that these reflections were too depressing to do him any good, Harry squared his shoulders and said to the others, "Come on, let's go."  Ron stared at him in disbelief.

"Blimey, _more_ shopping?" he demanded angrily, his face going as red as ketchup.  "Come on, you're wasting a perfectly good day in Hogsmeade!  Well, I can tell you right now you're not going to drag me along with you."  Ron folded his arms stubbornly and remained where he was.

Terror filled Harry at the prospect of shopping with only Hermione for company.  Most of the time, of course, she was perfectly all right as a companion.  _Shopping_ with her, though, was quite another story if she kept acting the way she had been all morning.  Circumstances like this warranted the greatest weapon Harry possessed—the puppy dog pout.

He was a little out of practice, but he could still do it all right.  "Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaase?" he whined, making his eyes as large and round as he could and thrusting out his lower lip dramatically.  Ron covered his face and turned away.

"No, please," he begged.  "Anything but that, Harry!  Not...the puppy dog pout!"  Harry knew Ron was weakening and kept going, even adding a little whimper for maximum effect.  After a few more seconds, Ron heaved a deep, resigned sigh and Harry knew he had won.

"All right, all right," Ron grumbled, standing up with a groan.  "Just tell me we don't have to go to FeyFashion."  Harry flinched and didn't reply, giving Ron his answer immediately.  "Not FeyFashion!" Ron moaned, sinking down on the ground.  "Why, oh why?  Goodbye cruel world..."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and grabbed Ron's arm to pull him up again.  "Shut up, Ron.  We need to be supportive of Harry in this crisis."  Harry gave her a grateful if somewhat scared look and tried to ignore the fact that she held Ron's arm a little longer than necessary and he didn't pull it away.

"Come on," he sighed, turning away from the bookstore and reluctantly beginning to lead the way to FeyFashion, that most evil of clothing stores.  Thankfully he had never been there before, but he feared this visit might scar him for life if it didn't kill him outright.  After all, hadn't Lavender and Parvati spent most of the train ride to Hogwarts that September squealing about this very store?

Two minutes later, Harry was standing in front of the two-story thatched hut and had revised his opinion.  It definitely wouldn't kill him outright—he would die by slow and painful torture.  A large sign with color-changing paint proclaimed proudly that for this week only, one could purchase any Morgan le Fay brand women's robes at FeyFashion without sales tax.  Provided, of course, the small print noted, that one possessed the proper membership cards, subscribed to the seasonal FeyFashion catalog, etc., etc.  It was enough to make Harry sick, and he hadn't even laid eyes on a stitch of clothing yet.

Trembling slightly with foreboding and fear, Harry and Ron entered, followed closely by Hermione, who seemed mostly disgusted.  "Who would shop for robes at a place like _this?"_ she whispered indignantly to them.  "After all, we all know what you look like isn't important, it's who you really are inside that—"

"Shut up, please," Ron moaned, clutching his stomach.  Harry saw with concern that his face was already going a lovely shade of green, no doubt brought on by the sight of the teen girls' spring fashions in pink and purple.  True to form, Hermione seemed not to have heard Ron's anguished plea at all, but simply continued with her angry tirade against modern materialism.

"—I mean, really, when _I_ get up in the morning I just toss on any old outfit—"

"I would never have guessed," Harry muttered sarcastically, thinking about Hermione's usual clothing styles—Wrinkled, Creased, Crumpled, and Unironed.  Fortunately for him, Hermione once again ignored all outside comments in her quest for truth, beauty, and someone who would actually listen to her.  Unfortunately, the last item of this list apparently led her to seek a more receptive audience, for she vanished into the milling crowd of shoppers before Ron or Harry could lift a finger to stop her.

Horrified at this latest development in the twisted plot that was their lives, Harry and Ron stared at one another in sheer terror.  At last Ron managed to speak.  "Harry," he croaked.  "Do you realize what this means?  I mean, she's going to go—she's going to go out there.  And preach about People These Days and how they're so concerned with clothes..."  Ron trailed off, but the expression on his face said everything his voice could not.

"She'll get clobbered!" Harry gasped in disbelief that someone so smart could do something so dumb.  But then, that was Hermione—once she got on her soapbox she would darn well stay on it until the mob dragged her away still yelling about liberty, fraternity, and equality.  Unfortunately, by the looks of things, the pattern was about to repeat itself.

Now the boys were faced with a tough choice—should they plunge into the crowd and try to rescue their friend before she got herself killed or should they run the other way and try to look innocent?  Being the strong, tough Gryffindors that they were, the answer was obvious...

Turning quickly, stumbling over each other in their haste, Harry and Ron fled, fearing for their lives at the hands of the shoppers if they were recognized as Hermione's companions.  "Almost there," Harry panted, straining to cross those last few yards to the exit—

What he heard next froze the blood in his veins.  The crowd was quieting, the roar replaced with an ominously hostile silence as they listened to...no.  No, it couldn't be!  How could she have gotten started that quickly?  But there it was—Hermione had started her speech already and wild hippogriffs couldn't make her stop until she was done.  The only thing for it was to run faster...

For the first time, what Hermione was saying was audible to her two friends.  "And I'm not the only one who feels this way!  Two of my very good friends are behind me every step of the way.  There they are!" she yelled, her arm shooting out above the crowd to point directly at them.

"Faster!" Ron hissed desperately, gangly limbs windmilling as he pushed himself all-out to escape the coming storm.  Alas, it was too late.  The crowd was already moving menacingly in their direction as only a mob can.

"RONALD QUENTIN WEASLEY!  HARRY JAMES POTTER!  GET YOUR BUTTS BACK HERE!" Wisely, they ignored her and focused only on the welcome sight of the doors, tantalizingly close.  At that moment, Harry had never seen anything so beautiful as the exit sign just a few feet ahead...

Too late.  The seething mass of humanity had somehow blocked their escape just in time.  Harry had the distinct impression that if they had happened to have any pitchforks with them, they would have been waving them for all they were worth while singing the French national anthem or some other cheerful tune about riot and bloodshed and other fun family events like that.  As it was, he thought they were quite threatening even without benefit of sharp objects.

Ron and Harry stopped, breathing hard and staring at one another in hopeless resignation.  Yes, it was no use denying it any more with the wild-eyed crowd ready to tear anyone associated with Hermione to bits.  They were quite definitely and unequivocally trapped.

A/N: That was fun.  Frankly, I didn't expect anything like this to happen, but *shrugs helplessly* so be it.  I am a slave to my twisted imagination.  As you may have noticed, I now have italics!  Somewhere in the middle of this chapter, I figured out the easy way to save in html format (no thanks to my dad), so I may be a little italics-happy for the next few chapters.  Bear with me while I get it out of my system.  I refused to use any previously named Hogsmeade shops in this chapter because I do like to do something original every once in a while, so imagine my fury when I reread _The Goblet of Fire_ and discovered that my original name for FeyFashion, WizardWear, had already been used as Gladrags Wizardwear!  Luckily, I came up with FeyFashion, thinking only of the fairy or elfin meaning, but it gets better.  I looked up "fey" in the dictionary to verify the definition lest I get flames from other mythology buffs and found that an alternate Scottish meaning is "doomed or fated to die."  Considering the plight our intrepid trio find themselves in, I find that eerily appropriate.  Hee hee hee...Coming Soon: Chapter Three.


	3. Shopping Can be Hazardous to Your Health

Disclaimer: I own several of the stores in Hogsmeade.  J.K. Rowling owns Hogsmeade and everything and everyone else in the immediate vicinity.

A/N: First, apologies for two things in the last chapter:

kippinator, Salysha, katie janeway, and guess: Sorry, sometimes my quest for amusing middle names gets the best of me.  You are absolutely right!  I still can't remember where I read that in the previous books, but OotP settled it beyond a doubt.  Assume Hermione was so fired up about modern materialism that she forgot Harry's real name. :)  Actually, you've done me a favor even beyond pointing out my error.  You know that mysterious "J" in Remus J. Lupin?  I think Jedediah just might fit nicely…

atalante: I am so sorry!  I hope I didn't offend you.  Believe me, I meant no insult whatsoever to the French.  I know the anthem stands for a lot more than that, but we were reading _A Tale of Two Cities_ in English class recently and it got me on a roll about the Revolution.  I was only referring to the part where it talks about spilling enemy blood in the gutters, etc.  I really shouldn't have listened to my mom, who emphasizes the violence—I think it's her favorite part.  Please forgive me!  (By the way, cool name!)

Whew.  With that done, we can continue with the story, which should begin right about...*looks at watch*...now.

Shopping Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

Harry gulped in fear as he broke out in a cold sweat.  Next to him, Ron's teeth were chattering as he looked wide-eyed at the assembled shoppers eagerly waiting to beat him to a pulp.  A low growl was now rising from the crowd that blocked their escape, and the boys knew they were running out of time.  Where could they go?  Surely it was impossible to hide from a mob like this…

Hermione seemed not to have noticed their plight.  She continued ranting and raving happily at the top of her lungs about how shameful it was that people nowadays cared more about their appearance than about those around them.  And this wasn't just among wizards, oh no!  Muggles were just as bad about it and so, in light of the fact that they had so much in common, _she_ for one didn't see why they all shouldn't just cast aside their selfishness and vanity and unite in brotherhood with their Muggle neighbors…

"Oh, no," Ron whispered in horror.  Harry gulped.  Caught up in her righteous zeal, Hermione didn't realize the deadly danger of the topic she had just introduced—Muggle-wizard relations.  If she continued in this vein, she was more or less condemning all three of them to a slow and painful death at the hands of the mob.  

At this thought, Harry looked around with renewed fear at the irritable holiday shoppers bearing down on them from all sides.  Perhaps, he thought, he and Ron could escape if they could get lost in the interminable racks of clothing.  If only they could distract their attackers long enough to disappear…But there didn't seem much chance of that—the mob was growing angrier by the millisecond and the two boys were the closest targets.

In the background, Harry could still hear Hermione going on and on about how really, we're all the same deep down and if we just put aside our differences we can all make the world a better place, Muggle and wizard hand in hand, I love you and you love me, we're a happy family—

"ENOUGH!" a new voice roared from the midst of the crowd, cutting her off.  Craning his head to see who the speaker was, Harry caught a glimpse of pale blond hair and winced, getting a very bad feeling about this.  The crowd parted as the figure made his way up to where Hermione was standing, looking rather shocked that someone had dared to interrupt her discourse.

"Still at it, Granger?" sneered Draco Malfoy.

Yes, this was bad.  This was very bad.  In fact…Wait a minute.  Harry paused in his panic.  What was Malfoy doing here in FeyFashion?   Surely someone like Draco Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this!

Looking sideways at Ron, Harry caught his eye and guessed that he had had the same thought.  The sheer quantity of blackmail such a thing could provide was staggering...

Suddenly, Ron nudged Harry, his eyes wide.  "Harry?" he whispered hoarsely.  "Do you realize what this means?"  

"Yeah," Harry murmured back.  "Eternal blackmail is what it means."

Ron stared at him as if he'd gone crazy.  "What?  How can you think of blackmail at a time like this?  Don't you understand what's going on?"

Harry looked curiously at him, wondering what in the world Ron was talking about.  Then it dawned on him: each and every wizard in the mob was riveted on what looked like the argument of the century, leaving him and Ron free to escape into the miles of clothing racks.  This was probably the only opportunity they'd get to make a break for it, and it was important to make the most of it before it was too late.

"Come on!" he hissed, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him along toward the nearest forest of robes.  As they ducked underneath them and disappeared from sight, Harry reflected that this was probably the only time he'd ever be glad to see hot pink.

Once hidden from view by the clothes, Harry breathed again.  He could hear Hermione saying something about how Malfoy couldn't be expected to understand enlightened philosophy if it smacked him upside the head and that he was a bigoted, smarmy brat who couldn't even bother to be nice to house-elves, goodness knows the poor creatures deserved it if anyone did, and—

"Oh, boy," Ron groaned softly, hitting himself on the forehead.  "House-elves—this is not good."  Indeed, Harry could already hear raised voices debating life, liberty, and the pursuit of clothing, with occasional accompanying shouts of support or rage from the crowd.

A thought occurred to Harry.  "No, actually, this is great!"  Ron looked at him in disbelief, apparently unable to fathom how a debate with Malfoy about house-elves could be described as "great" by anyone in their right mind.  "See," Harry explained quickly, "we have to be here anyway, right?"

_"You_ have to be here," muttered Ron, but he knew it was no use trying to wriggle out of this now—much as he might hate it, he was forever bound to play a key role in any dangerous projects Harry was involved in.  "What about it?"

Now Harry understood how Ron must have felt a moment before while he was still thinking about blackmail rather than escape.  "So since we have to get stuff here, what better time to do it than when they—"  He nodded at the mob beyond their hiding place.  "—Are distracted by Hermione?"  Ron slowly nodded, seeing his point.  They would still have to face the horrors of shopping at FeyFashion, but there was one good thing about it—they would be doing so without Hermione.

"Right," Ron said briskly.  "Let's get it over with, then."  He turned to the nearest rack of clothing.  "What do we need?"

Harry felt around in his pocket until he found the now-crumpled list of presents.  "Okay, um, we need an autographed set of Jersey Jinxes robes—"

"Athletic clothing," Ron said promptly.  Harry stared at him in horror, not sure what to make of Ron actually knowing where to find something in FeyFashion.  Shrugging uncomfortably, Ron muttered, "Well, it stands to reason.  After all, there's the sign right over there."  He pointed over Harry's head, toward the back of the store.

Harry turned in the direction indicated and saw the sign Ron was referring to.  Still a little wary of Ron's newfound ability to find his way around, he began heading over to the department, carefully keeping a few feet away from his friend at all times.

When they arrived, Harry found that the required robes were indeed on sale.  Sighing with relief that something was going right, he took a set off the rack and pulled out the list again.  "Now we have to find the winter clothing section," he said grimly.  Ron pointed to another sign on the opposite end of the store, and they made their way toward it, listening carefully to verify that the fight was still in full swing.  It was.

"Oookay," Harry murmured, looking with some apprehension at the next seven inches of the list.  "Great.  Just great.  Scarf, mittens, gloves, hat, sweater, leg warmers, earmuffs, and three pairs of thick socks."  

Ron blinked at him, his mouth slightly open.  "Blimey.  Guess McGonagall wants him to dress warmly, huh?"

"Guess so," said Harry.  He was trying not to laugh, having just gotten a mental image of Snape looking rather chastised while McGonagall told him sternly, "And I want you to dress warmly.  _Warmly,_ do you hear me, Severus?  You'll catch your death of cold down in those nasty dungeons..."

Walking over to an enormous display, Ron beckoned him over.  "Here, I found all the Muggle stuff.  See how _Snape_ likes getting a sweater for Christmas."  He looked as if he would immensely enjoy seeing somebody else wear a sweater for once.

Harry gulped, still staring at the parchment in his hands.  "Oh, darn," he breathed.  "I never did get the right color for all this stuff.  She said cream or beige or something like that, but she was going so fast and I just couldn't write it all down fast enough..."

Ron snorted.  "Just get green, he'll never know the difference."

"Are you kidding?" Harry yelped.  _"She'd_ know!  She'd kill me!"  Since this was obviously true, Ron winced and avoided commenting.  Instead, he perused the rack of clothes intently while Harry watched.

At last he straightened up and said, "Well, they don't have cream or beige."

"I'm dead," Harry moaned, burying his face in his hands.  Ron held up a hand to silence him.

_"But,"_ he continued with satisfaction, "they do have off-white."  Harry looked up, hope welling up in him once more as Ron happily waved a pair of mittens at him.  Without a word—mere words could not express his gratitude—he rushed over to join Ron and began to search for all the other myriad items he had to find.

Within five minutes, the two friends had found all the articles of clothing required in off-white.  Harry looked at the pile of knit clothing with grim satisfaction—against the odds, he had triumphed in his mission.  Now they just had to pay for the merchandise...

At this point, Harry remembered something that he had no doubt unconsciously repressed to avoid the sheer horror of it.  Turning to Ron, he started to say something about it, but his friend had already turned and was threading his way through the racks toward the checkout counter.  Unless he wanted to be left alone in FeyFashion, there was nothing for it but to follow him as quickly as possible.

Harry finally caught up to Ron, panting heavily from having had to carry his load the thirty feet to the counter.  "Ron," he wheezed urgently, "there's something—we forgot—what about—"  Ron looked at him worriedly, obviously wondering what it was _this_ time.  It seemed every time Harry got like this, they just got in worse trouble.

His instincts were not disappointed.  Catching his breath at last, Harry clutched Ron's shoulder for support and gasped, "What about the...the other shoppers?"  He said the last phrase very fast, knowing that if he thought about it for long he would be overwhelmed by despair.  Ron's mouth opened, but nothing came out.  He closed it and tried again, but all that came out was a sort of strangled squeak of terror.

Feeling his heart pound faster and faster with every second, Harry said desperately, "Look, we can't panic now.  We've got to get out of here!  What if—"  He gulped at the thought.  "What if they're not interested in Hermione and Malfoy anymore?  What if..."

"What if they're hunting for us?" Ron finished grimly.  For a horrible moment, Harry thought his friend was about to go into his usual hysterical act, but he seemed to recognize the direness of the situation.  "Right," he said flatly.  "How do we get out?"

The two boys looked around, hoping against hope to spot some sort of emergency exit.  Unfortunately, none was in evidence.  Looking at each other wide-eyed, they gulped as one.  What could they do now?

"Excuse me?" someone drawled behind them.  Startled, Harry spun around, looking for the owner of the voice.  A very bored-looking cashier was staring at him over her magazine, her perfect eyebrows raised in something between curiosity and contempt.  Harry blinked at her for a second, then poked Ron.

"Oy, Ron," he muttered.  "We have to pay."  Ron nodded and brought his half of the pile up to the cash register quickly.  After all, the faster they got this ordeal over with the sooner they could make their escape.

Apparently, the cashier didn't feel quite the same sense of urgency.  She slowly picked up the pair of mittens, turning them over to look at them from all angles, and just as slowly began punching numbers into the cash register.  "Been Christmas shopping, then?" she inquired languidly, reaching for the gloves.

"You might say that," Harry replied through gritted teeth, starting to make plans for his revenge on McGonagall.  The minor problem of her being his head of house and thus entitled to expel him could be gotten around somehow, he was sure...

The woman was now examining the sweater minutely as if the price might be woven into the fabric.  Looking sideways at Ron, Harry saw that his fists were spasmodically clenching and unclenching at his sides.  [Just breathe deeply,] Harry told himself.  [In...out.  Very good.  _Very_ good.  In...out.  In...out...]

He was managing to keep his fear in check, but he had no idea how much longer he could hold out.  If the cashier didn't put on some speed, he thought, he would probably start hyperventilating any second now.  [Calm.  Just stay cool, Harry.  She'll be done soon, I promise.]

Harry was distracted from the disturbing fact that he was talking to himself again by the woman's slightly nasal voice.  "That'll be forty-nine Galleons, if you please," she said with an air of satisfaction, pushing two bulging bags across the counter toward them.  Ron choked.

Smiling as best he could under the circumstances, Harry paid the woman and thanked her rather insincerely.  Then he picked up one of the bags and Ron took the other.  "Well," Harry sighed, "I guess we'll have to sneak out through the front entrance."  Ron swallowed hard, obviously wondering whether his friend had finally gone around the bend.  "Oh, don't worry," Harry said optimistically.  "Think about it.  With Hermione and Malfoy having a row out there, what are the chances of them looking for us?  Why, they've probably forgotten about us long ago."

Once more, Harry's unerring instinct for dramatic timing made itself apparent.  No sooner were these comforting words out of his mouth than the boys heard the unmistakable sound of a large crowd heading their way.  A large, very angry crowd.

Ron's face went the same shade as the clothing in the bags he carried.  "Harry," he gulped, "what now?"  Harry shook his head, feeling numb with terror.  Surely this was the end...

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he turned to the cashier and demanded, "Can you get us out of here within thirty seconds?"  The woman blinked at him uncomprehendingly, so he clarified, "Us.  Out.  Now."  She raised her eyebrows again, but nodded and beckoned them to follow.

Ron seemed panic-stricken and showed no signs of moving, so Harry was forced to half-drag, half-push him along.  The cashier led the way through a door behind the counter marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, beyond which was a hallway with various rooms leading off it.  Silently, she pointed to the door at the far end of the hall, gave the boys a push in its direction, and slipped back through the door to the counter.

Now Harry could hear the sounds of the mob more clearly than before.  It was much the same as it had been during Hermione's speech—death threats interspersed with incoherent yells and screeches.  His flesh crawled at the thought of what would have befallen them if they had been ten seconds slower and at the thought of what would no doubt befall the poor cashier.  He hadn't especially liked her, but that didn't mean he wanted to leave her at the hands of irate shoppers!

However, they had no time for luxuries such as pity.  Grabbing Ron's arm, Harry ran for the door at the end of the corridor, flung it open, and rushed out into the fresh air, slamming the door behind him.  Both boys leaned against the door, panting with relief at their narrow escape.

"So," Ron said at last.  Harry nodded in agreement.  There really wasn't much more to say on the subject as far as he was concerned.  For him, the mere fact of survival was enough...

They lapsed back into silence for a few more minutes, feeling their pounding hearts gradually slow to their normal rates.  Suddenly, Ron gripped Harry's shoulder in horror.  Turning to him, he whispered hoarsely, "I just remembered...Hermione."  No other words were necessary—Harry knew all too well what Ron was imagining in his mind's eye.  The last time they had seen Hermione, she had been the focus of the fearsome mob they had so narrowly escaped.  It would have been impossible for her to survive such an ordeal!

Ron's lower lip was trembling now.  He seemed very affected indeed by the thought of losing Hermione forever.  Of course Harry was as well, but he had never seen Ron act quite this way before.  Why, it almost seemed as if—

His train of thought was interrupted as Ron broke out into loud wails.  "NOOOO!" he moaned, covering his face with his hands in despair.  "She can't..."  He hiccupped a few times and slid down to a sitting position against the door, the winter clothing utterly forgotten in a heap beside him.  "She just can't be...gone."  Harry wasn't quite sure what to do under the circumstances, but he bent down, awkwardly put an arm around Ron's shoulders, and tried his best to be comforting and consoling.  Ron's hiccups continued to issue from behind his hands.

"I...How can I live without her, Harry?" he sniffled.  "It's like a piece of me is gone.  Blimey, Harry, it's..."  Ron searched for words, but could find none to express his sorrow.  "I never had a chance to tell her how I felt about her," he said haltingly.  Harry tried not to be disturbed by this comment and patted his back hesitantly.

"And how _do_ you feel about me?" asked a very familiar voice from above.  Hardly daring to hope that it could be true, Harry looked up.  There stood Hermione, looking very much alive and in one piece and tapping her foot impatiently.  "Really, I was wondering where you'd gotten to," she remarked rather severely, raising an eyebrow at her friends.

Ron stared up at her, his mouth slightly open in shock.  "You, you, uh," he stammered brilliantly.  "You're alive!"

Hermione snorted.  "Of course.  What, did you think something happened to me?"  Looking from one astonished face to the other, she added more gently, "And where have you two _been?_  Have you any idea how long I've been waiting out here for you?"

The two boys stared dumbly at each other, not sure what to say under the circumstances.  Ron was the first to speak.  "Well, we thought you were...you know."  He tried again.  "With all the...the _shoppers_—" Here he lowered his voice and glanced around as though passers-by might be listening and plotting to stampede them, not an unreasonable idea considering their recent experience.  "We thought you were a goner for sure."

"I see," Hermione said slowly, her gaze traveling from Ron and Harry's haggard faces to the pile of clothes at their feet.  "And did it not occur to you, Ron Weasley, that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself?"  Ron blushed a little and didn't answer.  Sighing and rolling her eyes a little, Hermione said briskly, "Well, come on.  You can't sit here all day, you know."

With a little help from Hermione, Harry and Ron got to their feet and scooped up their purchases.  As they set off toward Honeydukes, Harry asked meditatively, "But Hermione, I still don't understand.  How did you escape?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.  "Escape?  I just left."

"But you...we saw you...the mob..._Malfoy!"_ Ron argued disjointedly, waving his hands around for emphasis.  "You couldn't have just..."

"Just what?" Hermione interrupted coolly.  "I will have you know that I had a very fascinating discussion with Malfoy on house-elf rights and Muggles.  After that, I decided I'd had enough of FeyFashion, so I excused myself and left."  Seeing the look on Ron's face, she added helpfully, "Walked out.  Went through the exit and out into the street.  You know."  She illustrated by making little walking motions with her fingers.  "Is there a problem?"

Nonplussed by her nonchalance, Harry and Ron turned to each other and shook their heads slightly.  "I still don't know how you did it," Harry confessed.  "If we'd tried that, they would've ripped us to shreds!"  Ron nodded in agreement, gazing at Hermione in wide-eyed wonder.

_"Honestly,"_ said Hermione.

A/N: Once again, sorry it took me so long to update.  But I really am working on fanfiction!  I have a few new Harry Potter stories coming, a whole batch of Lord of the Rings, and ideas for stuff in many categories.  Eventually I plan to have stories in twenty categories or more, but that's a sort of long-range plan.  At the moment I'm working on Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Foundation, Amber, Series of Unfortunate Events, Incarnations of Immortality, and Animorphs.  Anyway, back to the story.  At this point I have no clue how long it will take them to finish shopping, but if this chapter is any guide...Oh boy.  You gotta feel sorry for these kids.  Thanks again to all the folks who corrected me on Harry's middle name, apologies to atalante for the French national anthem, and I sincerely hope that Chapter Three will be Coming Soon!


	4. Shop 'Till You Drop

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't tell J.K. Rowling I'm doing this, please please please.

A/N: Well, maybe now they can finish up their shopping (finally!). I wouldn't know—I have absolutely no clue what's going to happen in this chapter. At this point, goodness knows how many chapters until the spiked Christmas punch actually comes into the picture, but that'll be fun when it finally happens. For now, we'll just see. Sorry, no review responses in this chapter, I have to get offline in thirty seconds and I don't have time to do it properly. So, thanks so much, everyone who's reviewed so far, hope you'll come back now that I've updated...

Shop 'Till You Drop

There was a bit of an awkward silence as the three friends walked down the main street of Hogsmeade. At last Hermione said briskly, "Well, then, where to now?"

"What?" Harry responded blankly. _Where to...?_ What did she mean?

"Where _to?_" Hermione repeated impatiently. "You still have to get some stuff, don't you?" With a slightly annoyed air, she snatched the folded and smudged list out of Harry's hands and squinted at it, trying to read his writing. "Hmm...you have all the clothing, right?" She gave him a look that said very clearly that if he _didn't_ have it after all the trouble it had caused them, he was going to die slowly and painfully.

Harry gulped a little. If looks could kill...But no, that was entirely the wrong way to think about the situation. He'd had enough impending death and doom for one day. "Yeah," he said, "I have all the clothing."

"Good," Hermione said sharply. "And I think that you've really been very lucky, considering."

"Considering what?" Ron demanded hotly. "Considering that _you_ put our lives in danger with that stupid 'let's all be friends' spiel? Considering that you've been nothing but trouble since we met you in first year? Considering—" He broke off suddenly as he realized what he was saying, but it was already too late.

Ron had very possibly just spoiled all his chances of dating Hermione for at least the next two years.

With a deep, long-suffering sigh, Hermione turned away and very deliberately began talking to Harry again. "I don't recall asking your friend to comment, do you?" she asked with her best imitation of unconcern. Harry shook his head helplessly, wanting to come to Ron's defense but not daring to say a word.

"All right then, Harry," she said. "What more do we have to get?" She looked down at the list again and nodded in satisfaction and, perhaps, a little relief. "Good. Only the chocolate left."

Ron perked up at this. Harry could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he registered that they were going to Honeyduke's, chocolate would most likely be involved, and he had no money with him. He barely restrained himself from backing away slightly. One never could tell what Ron would do for chocolate.

"Honeyduke's," Ron said reverently. "The wellspring of all joy…" Hermione forgot to ignore his existence long enough to give him an odd look. Ron seemed encouraged by this.

"Hermione, friend…" He pushed Harry out of the way and moved closer to the unfortunate Hermione. "I realize I'm not always the most sensitive person in the world—"

Hermione stopped in her tracks and turned to glare at him. "Ron, you're about the most insensitive person I've ever met!"

Ron wouldn't give up. "Yes!" he cried, taking both her hands in his. "Yes, I'm insensitive! Yes, I have the emotional range of a teaspoon and I've caused you endless misery! But—" He looked deep into her eyes. "But I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

With horror, Harry noted the tiniest of sniffles from Hermione. "Oh, Ron," she sighed. "You know I can never stay away for long…"

"Good," Ron said brightly. "Then you'll lend me a few Sickles to get something at Honeyduke's?"

There was a long pause at this incredible display of stupidity. Then, right on cue, Hermione burst into tears and ran past a very shocked Ron, disappearing into the midst of a large group of students heading down the road ahead of them.

Harry looked around frantically, hoping nobody he knew was nearby. "Hermione!" he yelled desperately. Abandoning all dignity, he started to run after her. "Come back—he didn't mean it!"

"It's no use," Ron said morosely. Harry seized him by the arm and tried to drag him along in pursuit of the vanished Hermione, but he wouldn't budge. "Harry, I'm hopeless, aren't I?"

"Yes," Harry panted, still tugging at his arm. "Yes, you are, now will you _please_ come on?" He gritted his teeth and pulled harder. "Come _on_, Ron!"

After a few seconds, Harry gave up in disgust and waited for Ron to regain his sanity, or at least his composure. After all, it wasn't as if scenes like this were unusual…

As it turned out, Ron recovered fairly quickly. "Harry!" Harry jumped a little.

"What is it, Ron?" he asked, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. He had never been too good at being sensitive himself, but he was working on it and this would be the perfect opportunity to practice his empathy skills.

"Let's go to Honeyduke's now," Ron said cheerfully. Harry gave him a sidelong glance, shook his head, and sighed. Honestly, how was he supposed to improve his understanding of others' emotions with someone like Ron around?

Once inside Honeyduke's, Ron hauled Harry over to the chocolate counter. "Harry, mate, you'll help me out, won't you?" he asked plaintively. He made a show of turning out his pockets and looked back up at Harry, giving him his best puppy-dog pout. "Pleeeease?" he begged.

Harry rolled his eyes. Reaching past Ron, he snagged the huge box of Chocolate Frogs McGonagall had insisted on. "There," he said firmly. "Now we can go."

"No." Ron planted his feet and crossed his arms. "I want chocolate, Harry." Harry noted with some concern that Ron was staring at the box of Chocolate Frogs. Hastily, he moved toward the checkout counter to pay.

Not fast enough. "Say, Harry," Ron said, in the tone of voice that usually indicated that he had just had an amazingly brilliant idea. "Snape doesn't need chocolate, does he? I mean, can you picture him eating chocolate?" He took a step closer, eyes still fixed on the box.

"Get a grip, Ron," Harry warned. "You know McGonagall will kill you if you take these." He didn't add that she would kill him as well, but the thought was impossible to avoid.

Ron heaved a tremendous sigh. "I think I'm going into withdrawal," he complained. "I can only go so long without chocolate, you know." Harry gave him a long, long look, a look that spoke of torture and dismemberment.

"I just remembered," Ron said suddenly. "Christmas is in a week. And I'll probably get chocolate for Christmas, right?"

"Absolutely. Huge quantities of chocolate," Harry told him. "Enough chocolate to make you sick. So you really, really, _really_ don't need any now." Ron nodded in slightly disappointed agreement and fell into a brooding silence.

Harry reached the checkout counter. He paid for the Chocolate Frogs, put the box in a large paper bag, and exited the store without incident. Ron followed, lingering in the doorway to give the chocolate display one last longing look.

The two boys walked in silence for about a minute, enjoying the weather. At last Ron looked around him with a puzzled expression and asked, "Where's Hermione gone to?"

Harry stared. He had known Ron sometimes suffered from short-term memory loss, but this was a little extreme.

"Oh. Right." Ron continued walking, seeming more dejected than before. He kicked at small pebbles and clumps of snow as if each one were Draco Malfoy's head. Harry watched, concerned for his friend's safety. With his world-renowned clumsiness, he was all too likely to break a leg on one of the larger pebbles…

An idea struck Harry right between the eyes. A brilliant idea. "Ron!" he said excitedly. "I've got an idea!"

Ron snorted. "Like what? Just shooting me now to end the misery? Sorry, already had that one." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and kicked at the ground more savagely than ever.

"No, listen to me! I have this brilliant, excellent way for you to make up with Hermione!"

Harry definitely had Ron's attention now. "Yeeesss?" Ron asked slowly. "What is it?" He stared at Harry in anticipation.

Motioning Ron to come closer, Harry stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. "You can actually study for the Transfiguration test on Thursday," he whispered, proud of his own genius. "That'll impress her for sure!"

Ron didn't seem especially impressed by Harry's plan. "But I'll fail it anyway," he pointed out. "Nothing I do is going to make a difference."

"Yes," Harry said, "but it's the principle of the thing. Hermione will feel gratified that you've seen the full importance of excellence in schoolwork, right? And then she'll be proud of you for doing your best, right? And then—"

"And then she'll feel like we have a lot in common!" Ron interrupted jubilantly. "And from there it's only a matter of time till she starts speaking to me again!" He grinned and slapped Harry on the back. "Thanks, mate," he said fervently. "I guess we better get back to the castle now, right?"

"So you can study," Harry agreed with a grin of his own. Everything was working out after all.

That night in the common room, Harry and Ron hurried to take seats at the same study table with Hermione, who was reading as usual. Harry, who had delivered the gifts to McGonagall for wrapping on arrival back at Hogwarts, produced a roll of parchment for his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Ron ostentatiously rooted around in his bag and pulled out a copy of _The Art and History of Human Transfiguration_ by Circe Williams.

"Wow, Ron," Harry said in a stage whisper. "That for the Transfiguration test?" He darted a glance across the table at Hermione. She was still reading.

"Yeah, I'm really gonna study hard this time," Ron answered, somehow managing to sound vaguely happy and excited at the prospect. "After all, I want to do well so I can get a decent career after I get out of school." He also glanced over at Hermione.

Harry made a small motion with his hand to indicate that he thought they'd said enough. Hermione wasn't stupid, and there was no use hamming it up unreasonably. Ron nodded, and both boys went to work, waiting for something to happen.

After ten minutes, Harry looked up from his essay and saw Hermione watching Ron intently. Ron was doing his part admirably, actually taking notes as he paged through the huge book, occasionally going to the table of contents or the index to find something. He was sparing no expense to show off his study skills for Hermione's benefit, and it was apparently paying off.

"Ron." Ron looked up with every appearance of being a little annoyed at the interruption. Hermione looked at the book, then at him, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Studying," Ron said as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "Why, are you surprised? You know how much my education means to me." Harry nodded in support of his friend.

Hermione looked flustered. "Well, no, of course I'm not surprised, I just—well…I didn't think you would be working this hard this close to Christmas." She looked pointedly around the rest of the common room, which was filled with people excitedly talking about their plans for the holiday.

"Oh, but this is my future on the line, Hermione," Ron said earnestly. "I wouldn't be able to sleep at all if I didn't start preparing early for this test. After the O.W.L.s last year, I've realized how crucial it is that I do well in school." He smiled brightly.

Harry had to work hard to keep from snorting. He had never heard Ron use the word "crucial" in his life, and wasn't at all sure that he could spell it, but he wasn't going to bring that up when Ron was making so much progress. Hermione was talking to him again, which was a definite improvement.

"Oh," Hermione said after a short pause. "Yes. Of course, yes, it's very important. Do you…do you need any help studying? I've come up with some great mnemonic devices for some of the lists of dates and events," she added.

Ron, who had a real future in acting, showed no indication that he had no clue what a mnemonic device was. "Well, if you're not too busy," he conceded, "I guess it would be all right. It never hurts to have a study partner, right, Harry?"

"Right," Harry agreed, taking his cue and getting up quickly. "I think I'll go work on this upstairs for a while—getting a little too noisy down here for me. You know how easily I get distracted." He grinned at Ron surreptitiously as Hermione moved over to the seat he had occupied. It didn't seem likely that _they_ would be distracted by anything short of nuclear missiles.

"Well, see you later, then," Hermione said to him, obviously barely registering his presence. "Hope you get a lot of work done."

"Oh, I will," Harry lied. He gave Ron one last encouraging look and headed for the staircase. "Mission accomplished," he muttered to himself as he climbed the stairs to the dormitory. Tomorrow he would tackle the far more dangerous mission of playing Santa, and he needed a good night's sleep. In his opinion, he had more than earned it.

A/N: No way has it been a year since I updated this. _No way._ Please tell me someone's still reading this…that would be nice…I promise I'll try to update again soon, but since I have like 10 days of summer left that may not happen. I'll be doing my required reading for school, since I still have three books left. But I'll do my best. So, optimistically, Coming Soon: Chapter Five!


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